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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493997">How can I reach the sea?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus'>themegalosaurus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sam Winchester Does Not Go to Stanford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:07:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"College," Dean says.</p><p>"He's not going," says John.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; John Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; John Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, John Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How can I reach the sea?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my SPN J2 Xmas fic for firealchemist18, to a prompt which asked what might happen to Sam's mental state if he decided not to go to college. </p><p>This has been A Very 2020 Christmas Season so I'm posting the first chapter here now with the next two (it should be two) to follow in the next day or two. Apologies to firealchemist18 and thank you to the challenge mods for their patience with my eternal shenanigans...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car jolts over a bump in the road and Dad makes a sound; not a groan or a cry but a sharp intake of breath. It sends knives down Dean’s spine just as much as if he’d sworn at him. Worse, maybe. Dad doesn’t ever show that he’s hurt.</p><p>Hard to pretend otherwise when his guts are half spilled, held in with the shoddy excuse for field first aid that Dean managed to deliver in a panic, in the dark, in the pouring rain. The same rain is still lashing over the windshield, so heavy that the wipers barely clear the glass for a second. If Dad were driving he’d pull over and wait for it to stop. The road is slippery, sheeted with water. It’s black night and the Impala’s feeble headlights are the only illumination on this small, rural highway. Dean could send the both of them crashing to their deaths in seconds. But he listens to Dad’s laboured breathing and he knows that he can’t stop.</p><p>When he sees the lurid pink and green neon of the Sunset Pine Motel the relief is so total that he almost hurls. It’s not like Sam’s going to do anything Dean couldn’t but at least he won’t be alone with this anymore.</p><p>He pulls up directly outside their room and finds Sam already on his feet as he opens the door, his brother’s face illuminated aqua by the flickering screen of the television. Dean flips the light switch and leaves both of them blinking. </p><p>“Dad,” says Sam. It’s not a question.</p><p>They duck back out into the downpour. Sam’s hoodie and jeans are immediately soaked through, the water plastering his long hair flat against his forehead. Dean can’t meet his brother’s eyes. He opens the car’s heavy back door and crouches to find his father grimacing as he tries to pull himself upright. A dark stain has already penetrated the bandages over John’s stomach. Dean has to physically restrain himself from pushing his father back down, from telling him to lie still for once and let Dean and Sam carry him out.</p><p>Instead they each offer him a shoulder and half-support, half-drag him into the room, dumping him on the bed nearest the door. Dean looks across at the other as they drop him down and notices its unrumpled blankets; Sam hasn’t been to sleep. He checks his watch. 2:30 AM.</p><p>“I’ll get the kit,” Sam says, and is back almost instantaneously. Dean’s aware of his brother’s presence at his side as he takes his knife and cuts right through the damp layers of fabric in which his father’s torso is swaddled. Dad’s shirt and undershirt are both write-offs and Dean tugs them carefully away, grimacing as they stick to the skin.</p><p>Sam gasps softly as the damage is exposed; a great jagged tear in the flesh of Dad’s stomach, sickly maroon under the room’s yellow overhead lights.</p><p>“The hospital,” Sam says, and flinches as they both say “No.” This is the first time Dad has spoken since the creature got him, slashing a claw through the darkness in a swift, shocking movement that took both of them by surprise. There had been a long, still moment where time had seemed frozen before Dad said, “Shit,” and crumpled forward, dropping his torch. Dean was paralysed for several unforgivable seconds before he shook himself into action. He hasn’t stopped moving since.</p><p>He looks up at Sam’s white face. “Stitches,” he says, and holds out his hand. But he finds as he unscrews the cap on the whiskey that his fingers are shaking; that his whole body is shaking, and that it’s as much as he can do to slop the liquid over Dad’s wound. Dad hisses, flinches, and the movement sends a fresh pulse of blood across his stomach, soaking into the mattress. </p><p>“Here,” says Sam. He shoulders Dean out of the way, tugs the bottle out of his hand, and steps across to pour a slug of alcohol into Dad’s mouth. He bends over their father. “This is going to hurt.”</p><p>Dean watches his brother’s fingers, swift and certain, putting Dad back together. A wave of dizziness, nausea, exhaustion washes over him and he has to sit down, stumbling back into the flimsy wooden chair that’s standing under the window. He drops his head into his hands and tries to pull himself together. Breathe in. Breathe out. </p><p>By the time he looks up, Sam is just about finished, tying off the floss with a neat, definite knot. </p><p>“Dad?” Sam says.</p><p>Their father’s face is an awful grey-white, the dark stubble of his beard standing out starkly against the flesh. When Sam speaks, John’s eyes flutter open but they don’t quite seem to register. He licks his lips and whispers. “Dean.”</p><p>Sam’s mouth contracts, tight and unhappy. He steps backward.</p><p>“I’m here,” Dean says. He stands up.</p><p>“You need to go back out there,” John says. The words are slow and difficult, his chest heaving as he speaks.</p><p>Sam’s voice is strident in contrast. “Are you fucking crazy?”</p><p>Dean doesn’t look at him. “Of course,” he says. “I got you, Dad.” Then he walks past his brother into the bathroom and closes the door.</p><p>He fills the sink with cold water and dunks his face in it, breathing out in slow bubbles. When he comes up for air, he shakes himself like a dog and rests his wet forehead against the chilly glass of the mirror. He curls his fingers over the edge of the vanity unit and squeezes tightly. Of course he has to go back. They can’t just leave that thing out there to slice people up like meat. The pulsating, vulnerable surfaces of his father’s abdomen hover just behind his eyes. </p><p>He tugs his cell out of his back pocket and starts sending texts.</p><p>When he leaves the bathroom he goes straight to his bag, pulls out whatever clothes seem somewhat less filthy than the others and bundles them up into his arms. Then he heads for the door.</p><p>Two hundred-some pounds of pissed off little brother block his path.</p><p>“Come on, man,” Dean says. “Give me a break.”</p><p>Sam tugs him into the corner, as far from Dad as they can get. The rain against the windows is loud enough that there’s a chance he really might not hear them.</p><p>“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Sam hisses.</p><p>“What do you want me to do? We left it alive. We had to leave it. It ate two days ago so I don’t think it’ll go hunting for another few, but I can’t count on that.”</p><p>“There must be someone else you can call. It nearly - it nearly killed Dad and there were both of you. How can you take it on by yourself?”</p><p>Dean sighs. “I messaged Caleb. He’s going to meet me there. But there’s nobody else local and it’s a two-man job.”</p><p>“Fuck,” says Sam, emphatically. Dean looks at his brother for the first time since Dad mentioned going back out there and is surprised and unsettled by the misery on Sam’s face.</p><p>“I’ll be okay,” he says. “Sam. It was just - it was a stupid moment. We shouldn’t have gone out in the dark. Caleb and I won’t make the same mistake.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Sam’s face doesn’t clear. He chews his lip and says, eventually, “When are you gonna be back?”</p><p>“I guess -”</p><p>“You said you’d be back on Sunday. This time. You said Sunday and it’s fucking Thursday, Dean.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“So how long will it take, this time? For real?”</p><p>“Fuck,” Dean says. “I don’t know, Sam. Another few days.” His brother’s silence needles at him. “Why, you got plans?”</p><p>Sam looks right at him, something unreadable in his eyes. Across the room, John coughs, chokes. There is blood on his lips. </p><p>“No,” Sam says. “No plans.”</p><p>It’s Tuesday night by the time Dean gets back, bloodstained and exhausted, and the atmosphere in the room is terrible. Dad is better enough to be demanding and obstreperous but not enough to do anything for himself. Sam’s resentment is so thick it’s palpable. Maybe three minutes after Dean walks through the door, his brother heads out of it. “I need to clear my head.”</p><p>The latch shuts behind him with a neat, decisive click.</p><p>Dean stares at the blank wood. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he takes a long, hot shower. Then he changes into sweatpants and t-shirt and crashes gratefully onto the unwashed sheets of Sam’s bed. His whole body is aching. He hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours. He’s still tense with the fear that comes with driving on zero sleep, still jittery with the pills he popped to keep himself awake. The embrace of the uncomfortable mattress feels like a dream.</p><p>He’s barely closed his eyes when John says, “You know Sam was planning to go to college this week.”</p><p>It’s like the skies have opened, dousing Dean with the ice-cold rain of the week before. He doesn’t open his eyes. Maybe this is a dream.</p><p>“I told him not to be ridiculous,” Dad continues. “I said, this only happened in the first place because he didn’t come with.”</p><p>This is unfair. Even though Dean couldn’t see why Sam was so reluctant - what was so important about filling his shifts at the store - it’s not like Dad kicked up much of a fuss. He and Sam don’t work well together, not lately. They’ll both take any opportunity to get away from one another. Nobody mentions it. But it’s pretty fucking clear, nonetheless.</p><p>“I said, next time it might be you with your stomach slashed or your leg broken or a shot through your head. And he wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.”</p><p>“I can handle myself,” Dean says, stung. He doesn’t need fucking Sam to babysit him. </p><p>Dad makes a pleased little noise. So much for pretending to be asleep.</p><p>Resigned, Dean props himself up on his elbow. “College.”</p><p>“He’s not going,” says John.</p>
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